Thursday, 17 November 2016

Morning of the race:
The
road race was scheduled to take place at 7:30AM the next morning. I
woke up at 6:30AM and took account of my physical state. There were no
improvements compared to last night but I was eager to get out on the
road and give it all I had, considering that the world was ending the
very next day.

I
ended up not riding the previous night and was curious to see how my
legs felt. They felt quite okay in the 4km commute from the hotel to the
start line. To me, not having bad legs was a major positive sign,
actually the only positive sign and I cling onto that till I got to the
start line. But while waiting for the race to begin I mentioned to a good friend of
mine, Parashuram Chenji, that I might not be able to finish the race.

I lined up at the start line and eyed
across the field to figure whom I was racing against. There were about 70 cyclists and three of the
strongest teams had turned up with 6 riders each.

While,
waiting at the start and almost being on my knees, I kept reminding
myself of Mark "Manxman" Cavendish's ride at this year's British
national championships. Many people know he finished second that day,
but only a few know that he was suffering from a flu and he was racing
without teammates that day. I've been following "Cav" since 2010 and I
hugely admire his positioning skills and tactical agility. In the 10mins
before the race, I kept telling and asking myself - "What would Cav do? Think Sarvesh, What would Cav do?"

The answer was:- He would race smart

Q. How would he do so if he were in my place?- He would stay off the wind for as much as possible and pinch the bunch at the right time. And maybe flip a birdie or two when crossing the finish line.

Q. Okay, let's do not do the latter bit. When will the right time be to attack?- I don't know right now but definitely not in the first 60kms.

Q. Good. Keep that and Cav-speed to you!

Looking for a rent-a-Renshaw for my next race!

The race:
After
the usual 30 minute delay, the 120km long U23 road race was flagged
off. The first 5kms of the 20km-lap consisted of 3 flyovers. As we hit
the first flyover, I positioned myself well and moved up to 5th wheel
without having to face any wind.

I spent the next 15kms,
trying to out-wit the workhorses in the big teams so as to not face the
wind but still manage to stay in the first 7 wheels. Several times when
there were micro accelerations in the pace, my throat reminded me that
it was on the verge of a breakdown. This had me worried because this was
the very first of the 6 laps and I was not sure if I would be able to
hold onto the kamikaze attacks in the final lap.

Q. What would Cav do?- He would take it one lap at a time.

Q. Right, let's do that..Lap #2:

In the first half of the second lap, there were a couple of sections of where the pace was hurting
the most uncomfortable. I made a note to myself that these would be
good detonation points in the final lap to force a split with the
strongest guys in the race.

At the 27kms mark, I was on
fourth wheel, when I noticed that the bunch had stopped chasing us! The
four of us had a slender gap of 3 to 4 seconds.

Q. Isn't it too early?- I wanna try out something

I
went to the front and yelled at the other three to start rotating. I
put in a turn and so did another guy but the 3rd guy, who was from the
strongest team came around and said - "There's no point, Sarvesh. They
will chase us down."

He was right. I looked back to see 4 of his teammates chasing us down. "Oh, you idiots. Don't none of you know how to use a strong team?" I thought to myself.

The curse continues:
In
the 2013 U18 road national championships, my front wheel hit a stone at
the 32kms mark and I suffered a pinch flat. 200 meters before that, a
massive crash had blocked off the support vehicles and I ended up
pulling out of the 40kmrace.

In the 2015 U23 road national championships, my front wheel hit a stone at the 29kms mark and I suffered a pinch flat. Click here to read about how that race proceeded.

This
time around, I'd borrowed the best tyres available and I had pumped up
the pressure to 100psi on the morning of the race. I was absolutely sure
that I would not get a puncture and opted to not take on the headache
of finding a support crew to carry spare wheels. Absolutely sure.

Guess what happens at the 34kms mark? Take a guess,it's easy!
My front wheel hits a stone and I get a flat!!

We
were traveling at over 40kmph at that moment and my first instinct was
of safety. I began yelling to look out and signal to the cyclists behind
me to move around my sides.When the bunch of 20-odd guys, passed me, I
pulled over to the side, helplessly looking on as the support vehicles
of the bigger teams passed by. At first, I was slightly relieved to not
having to race being so sick, but the very next microsecond,
disappointment kicked in for two reasons - first, because I did not plan
ahead and get a support vehicle and second, because I did not manage to
give it a 100% in the race, which was my plan.

I began
walking back and a couple of minutes or so later, a good friend of
mine, Prashant, who'd gotten dropped from the bunch, came up to me,
stopped and began removing his front wheel. Instinct took over, as I
reached down and grabbed off my front wheel, replaced it with his and
asked him to give me a push.

I began riding and as I
approached the first roundabout, I pointed at my race numbers and
yelled at them to note down my race numbers, to avoid the confusion that
took place in the previous national championships.

A
couple of hundred meters later, frustration kicked in. Frustrated at
suffering a puncture. Frustrated at the throat infection I had that day.
Frustration at not having planned for a support vehicle. Frustrated at
having this season turn out to be worse than last year. I began
screaming in anger and momentarily got distracted.

"Focus, Sarvesh. Just focus on the riding for now and worry about everything else later..."

"...and if you haven't already noticed, your throat's in a bad shape, so STOP SCREAMING!!"

I
had a powermeter on and I decided to stick to a an appropriate power
range which I was confident that I could hold for the next 80+
kilometres and stayed in an aerodynamic position with my arms
outstretched and back low. There's a lot of debate about the use of
powermeters, but for me they provide a great objective to focus on.

"Come on, man. If anyone can ride their way back to a peloton, it's you! You've done this before! Just focus and dig deep."
I
knew I had very low odds compared to the previous time because of the
flat terrain but I forced myself to think positive to help stay in the
zone. Lap #3:
I
crossed the start/finish line for the second time and signaled a friend
of mine standing by the side to give me time gaps when I crossed him
next.

I passed by several riders, who'd gotten
dropped. When I got near them, I yelled at and signaled at them to start working with me, despite a protest from my
throat. Alas, none were
up for it.

As I approached the next roundabout at the
45kms mark, I was sticking to the left hand side of the road. I looked
up ahead to see a breakaway of 10 or 12 guys, riding on the wrong side
of the road, heading straight to me. A quick calculation revealed:

I found an alternative method to tackle the problem by first,
stepping off the throttle. Then I started screaming and waving my hands
frantically at them to move away from my line. I hit my brakes when they
were just 20metres and my rear wheel began to go into a skid. With less
than 10 metres to go, they edged away from me. One of the officials on a
motorbike began yelling at me. Not wanting to get into trouble, I
swerved to the other side. Stopped completely and waited for about 20
seconds to let the bunch to pass. Phew! That was close.

The next roundabout too had me involved yelling at the officials to note down my race number.
Halfway through the lap, I got news that the time gap was down to 160 seconds.

"That's encouraging to hear. Keep it up, Sarvesh."

As
earlier, I kept catching up with stragglers but did not have any
success to get them working with me to close the gap. At the 52km mark,
one of the spectators signaled at me to "work together". I was surprised to look
back and see one guy in my slipstream. I waved my elbow (which is
racing lingo for "do your work") at him, but he refused. Infuriated, I
attacked and shook him off. But, every time I moved out of my target
powerzone, my respiratory system was hurting a lot and the thought of
when, and not if, it would give in was haunting in the back of my mind.

At the 55km mark, I noticed that the gap had come down to 150 seconds.

Lap #4:

With 3 laps to go, the gap was at 2.5mins. It was quite big but seeing that it was decreasing helped me stay focused.
In
the next roundabout too, I noticed that the lead bunch was on the wrong
side of the road. I quickly moved to the opposite edge of the road and
had a heart-in-the-mouth moment when I was nearly taken out by a support
vehicle.

I caught up with a bunch of 4 guys at the
67km mark, and went immediately to the front to try and get them working
together. But only one of the four would work with me and I had to
launch an attack with him to ditch the lazy other 3.
The agony
of my throat had reached a new level by this point. I told myself to
take it one lap at a time and tried to trick myself by saying I would
pull out in the next lap.

Lap #5:

As
I crossed the 80km mark, I gave myself a pat on the back when I heard
that the gap was down to 2 minutes. Unfortunately, I found myself alone
again as the pace I was setting turned out to be too high for me
compatriot.

At the 85kms marks, I noticed the gap had
come down to about 100 seconds. The lead bunch had come down to just 12
or 13 guys now, so getting a top 15 finish was also a positive sign.

So close, yet..

The longest 30 kilometers:

Up
to the 90 kilometers mark, I felt pretty much in control of the effort I
wanted to was putting out. It was hurting and downright uncomfortable
doing so, but the neurons directed the muscles to operate at a certain
rate and they responded promptly.

However, disaster struck with 1.5laps remaining. My throat just gave in.

I had severe trouble breathing and felt a wave of tiredness and discomfort swept my body.

Disorientation
and confusion kicked in. I stopped pedaling and was unable to breathe
properly.
All sorts of weird thoughts kept popping into my head -

I couldn't feel my legs because the main signals going into my
head was how sick I was feeling and I wanted to stop riding."Always keep riding" - That morning, I spent a few minutes watching the 2016 Paris Roubaix Baskstage Pass
and in those seconds of disorientation I was facing, it was those words
of advice from Matt Hayman, the winner of that race, that kept playing
in my mind.

I pushed my right leg..

and then the left..

and then the right..

I was going at maybe 7 or 8kmph, but I wanted to keep going.

Soon
enough, one of the cyclists whom I was previously riding with caught up
and told me to stay with him. He too was in the hurt box, and we
trudged along at 22-23kmph. We took turns of about a minute in the
front, each encouraging the other to finish the race.

I
was on the hoods which turned out to be the least intolerable position
at that time. Any time there was a surge in effort, which needed me to
breathe harder, my throat began to burn and I had to settle down to a
slower pace. I kept alternating between watching the road and looking at
the "Distance" display in my GPS device.

I kept
calculating how long. How long it would take to finish at that current
speed. How much longer till I can stop pedaling and sit on a chair and
burst into tears in how disappointing a race I had. How much longer
before I can say - "I laid out all I had on the road and I'm happy with that regardless of the result".
How much longer before I can reach out to my Dad, who was at the start
line, give him a hug and thank him for supporting me so much. How much
longer before I could call my friends and tell them how I gave it all I
had.

3 hours 22 minutes and 40 seconds. After
3hrs and 22mins, I crossed the finish line and I didn't care. I did not
care in what position I had finished in. I did not care how I was going
to approach prospective team managers. I did not care about how what I
was going to do the next week when I had to being planning for the 2017
season.

All I cared was being at that moment. And at
that moment, I was absolutely satisfied that I had given the race a 100%
and to me, that was all that mattered to me.